


Until Here Becomes The Distance

by Solanaceae



Series: Femslash Friday [5]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/F, Femslash Friday, because depressed drinking buddies are a thing, yay for minor characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-20
Updated: 2013-09-20
Packaged: 2017-12-27 03:22:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/973716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Solanaceae/pseuds/Solanaceae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Then we go down together, in flames and shadow. Would you have it any other way?</i>
</p><p>Glóredhel and Eilinel. Dorthonion, during the Dagor Bragollach, waiting for the end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Until Here Becomes The Distance

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [30 Days of Femslash meme](http://silmladylove.tumblr.com/post/61630822803/30-days-of-femslash) on tumblr.
> 
>  **1: Write something about a minor canon character.**  
>  Glóredhel/Eilinel. In Dorthonion during the Dagor Bragollach, waiting for Morgoth’s forces to arrive.  
> (Glóredhel was the daughter of Hador and the grandmother of Brandir. Eilinel was Gorlim the Unhappy's wife.)

 

 

 

 

“They aren’t coming back, are they?”

The fire spat sparks into the still air, sullen glow reflecting off the faces of the two women sitting before it. There was a glass of something dark golden in Eilinel’s hand -- she took a sip, then glanced sideways at her companion, waiting for an answer.

Glóredhel stirred, eyes flicking away from the fire. “Who?”

“Everyone.” Eilinel emptied her glass, reached for the bottle. “Everyone else in this Valar-forsaken land, who else do you think?”

She shrugged, unable to answer. “Do you really think you should be drinking that?”

“Who else will?” She gestured with the glass, liquid sloshing out over the sides and spattering the floor. It shone in the firelight, like spots of fire-red blood. Her brow was furrowed with anger and disdain, but there was fear lurking in her bright eyes, as much as she tried to hide it. Glóredhel could see it -- but then again, she had always been good at seeing the fear in others, because it was so often reflected in herself.

“There’s no need to speak as though the world is ending,” she replied, trying to sound confident, as though the world were notending, as though their homeland was not being plunged into fire and darkness even as they spoke, the tide of evil sweeping closer and closer with every breath they took. “It’s not.” As though by those words she could stave off the encroaching darkness, delay their own deaths by even a second. The corners of EIlinel’s mouth twitched upwards in a mirthless smile.

“Isn’t it, though?”

Glóredhel shrugged. “And if it is? We sit here and wait for it, then. What more can we do?”

Eilinel shoved the bottle towards her, nearly tipping it over. “Drink. It’ll help you think. Maybe you can figure out a way to get into Morgoth’s fortress and kill him in his sleep. That ought to stop his attacks.”

She lifted the bottle, fingers slipping on the cool glass, and paused with it at her lips. “Was this Gorlim’s?”

“Does it matter? He’s dead, his lord is dead,  _everyone’s_  dead. And even if they aren’t, by the time they come back here this house will be a ruin, and the land a wasteland. If we don’t enjoy what little is left, then no one will.”

Glóredhel nodded and parted her lips, letting a little of the liquid drip into her mouth. It was cold on her tongue, but burned the back of her throat, making her cough. Eilinel nodded approvingly.

“Nothing like that to clear your head.”

“If you say so.” She set the bottle down cautiously, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “Do you... was there any word today of how close Morgoth’s forces are?”

“If there was, I would have told you immediately. You know that.” There was a flush high on Eilinel’s cheeks, and a fevered brightness in her dark eyes. “We’re alone here, and there’s nothing left,” she added in an eerie singsong. “Soon we’ll be ashes, too, like the rest of the world.” She paused, added, “The bards like to sing of defeat, do they not?” Her fist clenched around her robe, knuckles white in the firelight. “There will be no songs this time, because all of the bards will be  _dead_ , and all the heroes too, ashes on the wind and  _nothing_ , no one left except you and me, here in the dust--”

Glóredhel shook her head, her hand moving and lifting the bottle again before she quite intended to. “Are you feeling alright, Eilinel?”

The other woman laughed, a harsh, barking noise. “Oh, just  _fine_ , love, just fine. Come over here and see just how well I’m doing--”

“Eilinel.”

“The world is going up in flames and not even the Eldar can withstand it, what do you expect mere mortals such as us to do but sit and wait for the inferno to devour us, too?”

Glóredhel took another gulp and felt it sing in her head, like danger, like love. “And what does it matter, in the end?”

Eilinel nodded, something of the hysterical fear in her eyes fading. “We mortals all die, and sooner or later makes no matter to the rest of eternity. But would you bargain for a few more years if it meant sacrificing everything else?”

“Would it be worth living in a world like this?” she countered, and saw Eilinel’s eyes narrow ever so slightly.

“If I was with you, it would be,” Eilinel whispered, voice nearly lost in the crackle of the flames, and Glóredhel knew she was not supposed to have heard that, wasn’t entirely sure she had heard it at all, or if it had been her own thought.

She took another swig, felt the warmth in her throat, spreading through her chest. Eilinel shifted slightly, hand wrapping around Glóredhel’s and squeezing softly.

“They’re coming, you know. They’re coming and they’re going to kill us and we’ll be lucky if that’s all they do.”

“I know.”  _What do you expect me to do about it?_

Eilinel sighed. “Do you think it was inevitable, all along?”

“There’s always something you can do--”

“Not now.”

“We could run,” she said, but there was no conviction there, and it wasn’t really a suggestion more than it was a mouthing of empty words that had once held meaning.

“Was that ever a choice?”

“We could have fled, gone to Hithlum or further south, before the passes were cut off -- I don’t believe in fate, you know that. I believe in our agency as independent beings.” She shook her head. “But we didn’t run, and we didn’t go fight, and now this is all that’s left.” We’re all that’s left, you and I -- but with each other, and that is more than we would have had otherwise."

There was silence, for a few seconds, and Glóredhel ran the fingers of her free hand over the back of Eilinel’s, tracing shadow-patterns with a whispering touch and watching the flicker of blood-tinted light off the smooth skin. Eilinel kept her eyes on the flames.

“What do you suppose comes after?”she asked abruptly, turning to Glóredhel. “Do you think it’s any better?”

“It must be.” As if she had any idea, as if she was doing more than pretending she knew, and was not afraid.

“But will we be together?” she pressed, and Glóredhel had no more words, and so she leaned in and brushed her lips against Eilinel’s, tasting fire and despair there.

“We can hope. And if not, and this is all we have left?” She smiled, cupping Eilinel’s chin in trembling fingers, no longer bothering to hide her fear. “Then we go down together, in flames and shadow. Would you have it any other way?”

Eilinel’s arms stole about Glóredhel, shivering against her. “Hold me, love. I’m afraid.”

“I am too,” Glóredhel whispered, and yet somehow it no longer seemed to matter.


End file.
